


We'll Stick With You, Steve Rogers

by KayGryffin



Series: Stuck Together [3]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Adopted Peter, Adoption, All-Knowing Peter, Avengers Family, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Avengers, Iron Man 3, Iron Man 3 Spoilers, Kid Peter Parker, M/M, Making of a Superfamily, Oblivious Steve Rogers, Oblivious Tony Stark, Orphan Peter Parker, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Has a Family, Peter is Not Impressed, Peter is a Little Shit, Pining, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Requited Unrequited Love, Sassy Peter, Steve Feels, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers-centric, Superfamily, Team as Family, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-08-30 01:24:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8513407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KayGryffin/pseuds/KayGryffin
Summary: “Steve, I wanna get you and Tony together.”“I thought you were done with this,” Steve manages to groan, suddenly unable to make eye contact with a person not even a fourth of his (chronological) age.“No, not done,” Peter says with decision heavy in his voice, “Just put on the backburner for a bit.”‘A bit’ is a bit of an understatement, considering it’s been weeks since they had the conversation about Peter’s obvious desire to see Steve and Tony together.Steve doesn’t note on that, however. ---A lot's happened these past few months- Peter's officially joined the family, everybody's happy, everything's just great- but he figures that just means that it was high time for drama to start ripping what he's gained to shreds and dare to try and take one of his most precious people from him.





	1. Meddling Peters and an Indignant Steve Rogers

**Author's Note:**

> So I think for those of us who didn't find the election to result the way we would've preferred, this can serve as a slight pick-me-up and a nice fuck-you to the homophobic bigots that think they're in charge now. And for those of us who got what they wanted out of this election, hopefully this continues your good day with a nice start to definite Steve Rogers/Tony Stark ending. 
> 
> Peter's solo fic is underway. It's turning out much longer than his parents' so it might be split into a few parts. Also thinking about making it part of another series in addition to this 'Stuck Together' 'verse. Also thinking about writing a sort of epilogue-type fic of probably pure porn to finish out this series and give Steve another fic named after him (possibly, not sure yet). 
> 
> Please let me know how you like this fic? I know the last one's ending is a bit on the sad and fucking depressing side with how willing Steve is to give up Tony but I just want to be realistic. Leave a kudos, a comment, anything - let me know if you like this one. Let me know if you hate it, too.

Whenever Tony’s gone, Peter tends to gravitate in Steve’s direction.

It begun succinctly, right under all their noses, but at some point along the line, Steve had found that whenever Tony left the tower on any sort of extended trip, Peter would turn up at his door, armed with a pillow, some bad movie from the previous thirty years and a thick comforter wrapped around his shoulders with an increasingly overly familiar look of expectation upon his overly adorable face, and would then take it upon himself to stay for as long as he desired to—typically, until the moment he got notice that Tony was back within a two-mile radius. He would stay, force Steve to make spaghetti and watch as many corny films as he can force JARVIS to follow up the DVD he brings, wrangle him into the parent-like duties Tony is forced to leave behind every single time business calls for him.

It isn’t all too often, thankfully, that Tony is called away for business, but it’s often enough that Clint can identify the pattern with an almost laughable swiftness, already creating for himself a photo album on JARVIS’s system, leaving it open so that all could enjoy the so-called beauty of it all. Within the first week of it being in the system, Tony has already downloaded all of the images. Saved them for later blackmail, he claims, but Steve catches a flash of a little picture of Peter burrowed into a blanket burrito on Captain America’s lap as his phone background and he knows the unspoken truth that Tony’s none too inclined to share.

Steve doesn’t mind. He’s okay with it. 

Peter doesn’t care all too much himself.

And Steve doesn’t mind that, either.

He likes that Peter feels comfortable enough to think about searching for him for companionship in the wake of his father’s (admittedly reluctant and forced) departures. It’s nice, to be needed by someone in such a simple way; because at the end of the day, Peter’s truthfully not looking for too much from Steve—all he’s looking for his an adult to hang out with him as he waits for his father to come home; truthfully speaking, Peter’s already highly self-sufficient at his tender age of twelve, almost to the brink of abnormality, he doesn’t really need Steve to watch over him as if he would somehow die if left to his lonesome. He doesn’t really need Steve’s open door, doesn’t really need Steve to share his food, doesn’t really need Steve to allow him to take his own bed whenever he’s fallen asleep on him—but Steve does it, again and again, happily, because it makes Peter happy.

And, as he’s finding, it’s become one of the things he wants the most—to make Peter happy.

And, he’ll be honest, it’s a little bit unnerving, this growing desire he’s come to have, to make the boy happy. He knows that he probably shouldn’t feel so strongly about a kid that isn’t even his own, and so he doesn’t think about it if he doesn’t have to, it makes things much easier because there’s absolutely no way—

“Mr. Rogers, are you in love Tony?” Peter asks in the middle of the second _Ghostbusters_ movie.

And Steve damn near chokes on the lasagna Peter helped him make today.

It’s the second day of Peter’s most recent infiltration of Steve’s apartment while Tony was away in Copenhagen for yet another conference, which he’d (for lack of a better way to put it) bitched and moaned about having to go to for about two weeks straight before Happy had to come in and physically drag Tony to his jet _just_ in time to keep Pepper off of both their asses. Tony’s set to be gone for the next week or so, and so Steve knows that he’s probably going to be playing the role of Peter’s caretaker for the week. Fortunately for him, the air mattress he’d ordered came in the weekend previous, and patiently awaits inflation for when Peter’s too conked out from all the films—however, he’s got to make it past the whole fact that there is _food_ currently lodged in his air pipe.

Peter looks alarmed, and a bit too ready to perform the Heimlich maneuver considering he only _just_ recently learned it and has yet to actually use it on an _actual_ choking person, but Steve manages to cough up the large chunks of the remains with only limited complication, his eyes tearing up slightly from the moments of lost air. For a second, he’s happy JARVIS continued to follow through on his request to deny Barton his access to his suite in the wake of the stink bomb incident two months previous, because right about now, he’d be requesting photos to be taken.

“W-What?” Steve stutters out.

Peter stares at him for a second before he shrugs, turning back towards the movie. “I mean, I always get this feeling when you’re around him, but I just wasn’t sure, and Tony’s always encouraging me to ask as many questions as I can until I’m sure about things, so…” Peter bites his lip. “Am I wrong?”

_No,_ Steve wants to say.

“Peter, you can’t just… _ask_ like that, son,” Steve says instead, “That’s a bit _private_.”

“Doesn’t seem that way,” Peter murmurs under his breath, but Steve—with his super-soldier hearing—he hears it regardless.

And so his eyes nearly bug right out of his head as he sputters, “What does _that_ mean” in the most undignified way possible, but he hardly makes note of it, because Peter turns and gives him a look that’s all too familiar for this twelve-year-old’s face, his eyes wide and incredulous as he visibly fights down all possible sarcastic and otherwise smarmy responses that can pop up in response to Steve’s query, his stare almost speaking entirely for him as it seemingly assesses Steve’s level of intelligence, checking to see if the man is as dumb as the question itself seems to be.

“Mr. Rogers,” Peter says slowly, eyes still wide, “ _Please tell me you’re joking_.”

Steve’s facial expression apparently is more than sufficient an answer, because before he can even _think_ to say a word, Peter’s groaning, unwrapping himself from his current state in his blanket cocoon, diving for the remote they’ve left atop the coffee table, hitting pause on the movie. He sits up, rewrapping the blanket around his body as he glares at Steve, like the man has done something wrong, which as far as the man in question knows, he hasn’t—right?

“Mr. Rogers,” Peter begins, “Everybody knows you’re in love with Tony.”

Steve frowns. “I don’t think—”

“Literally everyone,” says Peter, ignoring Steve before adding with a shrug, “’Cept for Tony, but he’s kind of oblivious with things like this, so it’s forgivable. But it’s almost kinda funny, though, Mr. Rogers, because you do _not_ do a good job at hiding it.”

“Can’t we just watch the movie?” Steve half-asks, half-begs, blush rising rampant in his cheeks. He’s never been good with talks like these, not even before the ice (though, admittedly, there wasn’t exactly an overabundance of these types of conversations pre-ice), and he’s more than ready to slit his own wrists if Peter forces this conversation to continue. “I’ll even let you stay up later.”

“You say that as if you’re actually in control of when I go to sleep,” Peter points out. Steve would admit it, he’s more than a bit lenient when it comes to set times for sleep—but that’s only because usually Peter passes out somewhere before ten o’clock regardless; he hasn’t really felt the need to set strict times on the boy.

“I’m not having this conversation with you, Peter,” Steve tries instead.

“I mean, I’m not saying you have to have this conversation with _me_ , Steve,” Peter argues, “But you need to talk about it. I mean, we all already _know_ , so it’s not like you’re even really hiding anything, to be honest. In fact, I’m not sure why you’re not more forward with it.” Peter shrugs. “Tony loves you back, after all.”

Steve’s heart threatens to stop right in his chest, but he refuses to let it. Refuses to let his hopes get up. It’ll only crush him if he does, in the end.

“Your dad and I are friends,” Steve says quickly, before he can consider Peter’s words too deeply, “Nothing more than friends.”

And they are. They’re really good friends, and, if Steve’s being completely honest with himself, Tony’s probably his best friend, which Steve’s more than thankful for every single day. He treasures the bond that Tony allows him to have with him. It’s sacred for Steve; one of the most important things in his life in the modern age.

Peter sighs before shaking his head. “Mr. Rogers,” he says slowly, “With all due respect, you and Tony are _not_ friends.” Before Steve can even think to be offended, Peter continues, “Tony and Clint are friends. Bruce and Tony; friends. Uncle Rhodey and Tony—best friends.” He licks his lips—a small display of the nervousness Steve hasn’t even been aware that Peter’s been feeling—before continuing, “But anyone can look and see that you guys are way past friendship.”

Steve sighs now himself. “What brought this up, Peter?” he asks, “Why is this what we’re talking about?” It’s all kind of out of left field, at least to Steve. There’s no rhyme or reason for this to be current conversation—it had no precursor, no build-up into the discussion. There’s something being left unsaid, Steve knows it—and, honestly? It’s a little bit worrying.

Peter frowns before ducking his head against his chest. “It’s… nothing,” he mumbles low, playing with the remote still in his hands. A definite change in attitude, and none for the better—something is wrong, Steve can tell.

“Is something going on?” he asks, leaning forwards now, concerned. “You know you can talk to me about anything, Peter. I’m always here for when you need me.” _And even if you don’t_ , is left unsaid.

Peter sighs, visibly deflating. “I _know_ ,” he whispers, “But that’s the problem.”

Before Steve can begin to formulate a question, Peter tosses the remote into Steve’s lap, sliding off the couch with the blanket still around him tight, the only thing showing to indicate that he actually has a form underneath the fabric being the bare feet on the thick carpeting of Steve’s apartment. Peter’s not too big of a kid, but somehow, he looks even smaller now, what with that blanket around him, but the expression on his fact is far older than the rest of him.

“I’m tired,” he mumbles, “I’m gonna wash up and go to bed.”

“Peter—” Steve starts.

“G’night, Mr. Rogers,” Peter says, walking right past him out of the living room, feet padding nearly soundlessly against the floor as he makes his way to Steve’s bedroom.

Steve has to resist the urge to follow after him. It’s one of these times where Steve’s had enough experiences in the past when dealing with Bucky to know not to push Peter about something he didn’t want to talk about, although Peter wasn’t exactly about to show him the same courtesy just moments before. It’s just another facet of Peter that reminds him of Bucky—he somehow gets this persuasion that his own problem will just burden others, and therefore refuses to tell, only growing more and more frustrated and volatile the more he’s pushed towards expression. Sure, Bucky never actually hit him—and he doubts that Peter would even try, if put in the position—but it’s an argument he has no desire to push towards right now. He doesn't want to force Peter to talk if he doesn't want to, because he knows he'll eventually come out and say it on his own terms. 

So Steve stays there for the next forty minutes necessary to watch completely the rest of the film, which he comes to the decision is bad, but it’s not the worst thing he’s had himself watch as he struggles to play catch-up with the past seventy years. It doesn’t win any awards from Steve, anyways, though he does make it a point to add Bill Murray to the rest of his list after the conclusion—he’s got to have done something better, he decides; he finds he likes his character too much to be satisfied that this is the best Bill Murray can give to him. He turns off the television promptly, deciding to follow Peter’s example and schlep off to bed, though for him tonight that means to pull out the air mattress and begin to inflate it.

It’s not the worst thing he’s laid on, he decides, but considering his comparison is to a cold floor in a ravine somewhere in Italy, he knows his scaling his a bit skewed in compare to a standard civilian. Still, he supposes it adds to an advantage as he doesn’t have to shift for very long to find a comfortable position, but that doesn’t mean he immediately goes to sleep, instead, he finds himself staring at every object within his living room. When he starts trying to count the squares on the print of a throw he’s got over the arm of his sofa, he comes to the decision that his time will be better spent on the tablet Tony forced upon him three months previous in an attempt to speed up his ‘worldly learning’.  He doesn’t use it all too often, but that doesn’t mean to say he doesn’t know _how_ , like Tony tends to assume; and so within seconds, he’s online, searching randomly through the pages upon pages to catch up.

He goes through three things on his list—Marvin Gaye, the Human Centipede (Clint put it on the list and he didn’t want to even _try_ watching it without knowing the plot, because the man had been sniggering when Steve read it off), and Charlie in the Chocolate Factory before he decides he wants to check up on Tony. Usually, the man checks in every day, probably in order to keep Peter from losing his mind with worry, but Tony had been pretty busy today, he figured, so he hadn’t gotten around to it, which Peter didn’t seem to really notice, but he had.

He shoots him a message before he searches online, typing the billionaire’s name in the search engine to yield the response he wants. Gossip mags already have things to say, not all terrible, but not all really that great, either. However, Steve expects to see the bad, and with a sort of terribly practiced ease he finds himself navigating through the gossip to find something akin to a read-out of Tony’s entire day, which creeps him out slightly because it essentially means that someone is actively _following_ Tony around and tweeting his every move. If it weren’t for the fact that Tony’s proven time and time again that he’s not exactly a damsel in distress, Steve would be a bit more worried.

(That doesn’t mean to say that he isn’t at all, though—he’s just also aware that Tony can hold his own if need be, even if it’s against just some stalker with a Twitter account.)

He knows Tony’s in Denmark, currently Copenhagen, for some sort of conference, about what exactly Steve’s not entirely clear, but he does know that his usual bodyguard, Happy, is tagging along, as well as a full five-man team fielded by Pepper and Rhodey before their assignment. He also knows that these guys (and one lady) are former special-ops, Army Ranger types; armed to the teeth with weapons far too well concealed for the standard civilian to spot, and that each one was vetted by Peter himself (because Peter is a bit over-protective of Tony, which isn’t exactly unwarranted considering the engineer’s penchant for getting into danger) and given good reviews. Steve, himself, has done his own research on all five bodyguards, and knows that, based alone on track records, these are some of the best people to protect anyone.

Still, a part of Steve really wants to be there to be absolutely sure that Tony’s completely safe.

Steve is willing to consider the prospect that his crush on Tony (it feels childish to call his love for him a crush, like he’s some sort of gushy teenage girl, but if he admits to himself that it’s love then it’ll hurt more in the long run, so he doesn’t) is one that is completely evident—maybe even blatantly so—but it’s still downright embarrassing that its obvious nature has been pointed out by a twelve-year-old. He knows Peter means well, otherwise he wouldn’t bring it up at all, but it’s still mortifying that his affections for another man is obvious to a child who’s not even a quarter of his age (he still kind of struggles to reconcile the fact that he’s _eight times_ older than Peter because his body is still convinced he’s only just entering his thirties)—but he’s not upset about it, to be completely honest. When he really, truly thinks about it, he knows he hasn’t really hidden his desires for Tony: he just denied them, for his own sake, for fear that admitting he’s in love with Tony would cement the inevitability of losing him.

Because he loves Tony, he knows it—possibly more than he loved Peggy—and it’s not even because there’s some aspects of Tony that remind him utterly of the best parts of both Peggy and Howard somehow smashed together in some sort of eclectic mixture, no; it’s because those very same aspects of Tony’s personality set him head and shoulders above Howard and Peggy both. He’s got the intelligence from Howard (maybe even more than Howard, in fact), but then he got Peggy’s stubborn nature to go with it, making for one hell of an individual. Tony’s an utterly unique individual that has Steve under his enticement, and Steve’s more than perfectly okay with that.

He just is afraid of losing Tony in the process is all. It’s actually the reason why he hasn’t confessed his feelings to Tony; the idea of losing him. It’s not the idea of rejection, it’s the fact that he’s been losing the people he dares to love for as long as he can recollect. His Ma, followed by Erskine, then Bucky, followed by Peggy—he’s recognized the pattern, and he’s utterly terrified of it. He’s even more terrified by the prospect of knowing that Tony reciprocates, because it’ll just hurt even more if the man is ripped away.

Steve’s not strong enough for the aftermath of it all, so he’d rather not try.

He tells himself that it’s easier this way.

The tablet chimes before it displays that Tony’s responded, and with an eagerness he opens the message to see that Tony’s immediately jumped to the worst conclusion—that Peter’s dead and/or kidnapped and he’s probably going to hop into the suit that Steve knows full well that he’s brought with him despite hard orders from Pepper not to.

As quick as he can, with a smile that’s all too fond considering Tony’s message content, he assures him that the kid is as safe as can be—he even sends Tony a picture of Peter sleeping. He ends up having to send him two images, the original one that JARVIS takes on a security camera in Tony’s room, and a second one from the tablet’s own installed camera when Tony demands to see better proof. It’s only then that the man relaxes and assures Steve in kind that, yes, he’s alive, he’s good, and is bored as hell at the fucking conference, oh my _fuck_ , Steven!

They talk for two hours. For Steve, it’s just bordering on twelve AM, but for Tony, it’s now six in the morning, which means that he’s been up since at least four AM (Steve later discovers that Tony hadn’t actually slept at all), so Steve shoos him off with apologies and threats alike, which would be counterproductive with a lesser person but works perfectly with Tony, who simply shoots back with sarcastic snips and vaguely flirtatious one-liners that has Steve blushing. It’s nothing he’s strictly unused to, however—it’s just who Tony is.


	2. It's Just the Calm Before the Storm, Steve Rogers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just like the title says: it's just the calm before the storm. The time for Steve to bring close those he loves the most is beginning.

“You’re an idiot, Rogers,” Clint says with a roll of his eyes, “An embarrassment to us all.”

Clint’s reading through the messages when Steve gets back from dropping Peter off at school (a ride during which the boy makes no mention to last night’s hiccup and simply asks if they can make pizza tonight, which means Steve’s armed to the gills with the groceries necessary to make a multitude of it), feet propped up on the arm of Steve’s sofa as he lays on the air mattress that Steve has yet to deflate. Steve rolls his eyes in response, though he knows he’s actively fighting the need to blush, carrying the bags over to his decently sized open-space kitchen in order to sort them into their proper homes. Apples into the bowls, crumble mixture into the cupboard, flour bag opened and contents dumped into an easy-use container—Steve’s highly domesticated. His Ma would be proud.

Instead of letting Clint know he’s getting to him, he asks him, half-curious, when he got back from his mission. He’s supposed to have been gone for three weeks, but instead he’s here, reading through his messages like the nosy bastard he is.

There was a good few months where Steve hadn't talked to Clint other than the professional; stubbornness, guilt and indignant anger refusing to allow himself to be friends with Clint in the wake of the ultimatum he'd delivered, which did hurt more than he's willing to admit but he also can't deny how right Clint was in everything he said that day. In fact, they're still not wholly back on the track to being the friends they were before: Clint sometimes eyes him with an air of distrust whenever he gets apparently too close to Tony for his liking, and Steve can't shake the idea that Clint would rather put an arrow through his eye than let him continue to hurt Tony with a secret that Clint himself can't really grasp the enormity of. Steve understands where Clint's coming from with his anger; Nat's explained more than enough the kind of borderline destructive relationship he used to share with his older brother Barney and the emptiness that was left in his late brother's wake, affection and care reserved entirely for Barney becoming the property of one unsuspecting Tony Stark. Steve _gets_ that, his problem isn't in the understanding of where Clint's coming from. His problem is that Clint's so willing to cast him as a bad guy in a story he doesn't have all the details to. 

But Steve's not thinking about any of that now. It's not one of those times, after all, because Clint's got this cat-that-caught-the-canary grin on his lips as he reads through the messages on Steve's tablet and a glimmer in his eye that tells him how upset he doesn't feel. Clint's attitude towards him has been getting better as of late, he reminds himself, but he doesn't dare note upon it.

“Don’t change the subject to the arbitrary, Rogers,” Clint says as he wags his finger at him, “There’s a real issue we need to talk about, right here.” He holds up the tablet. “You did not honestly tell this man that _Peter_ can’t wait to see him.”

“It’s true,” Steve says defensively.

Clint calls bullshit in a sing-song voice, pushing up from the air mattress to saunter on over to the kitchen, jumping up to sit on the counter whilst Steve continues to put away his groceries like the good domesticated man his mother raised him to be, nearly snagging an apple but thwarted by a slap to the hand delivered by Steve.

“They’re for a crumble,” he says.

Clint grumbles but acquiesces to Steve’s wishes, contenting himself with continuing to scroll through the messages. Steve doesn’t even bother trying to stop him—it would be but an exercise in frustration, because Clint’s the kind of guy who will just bug him until he hears what he wants to hear. It’s easier for Steve, in the long run, if he just lets him read it instead. Clint gets what he wants and Steve, for his part, doesn’t have to waste the time trying to find the words to explain.

“So I’m going to assume that ‘Go to bed before I come over there and use my old-man powers to force you to sleep’ is synonymous with ‘I want to fuck you into the mattress until you scream my name and cum so hard you pass out’,” Clint says cheerily.

Steve snorts, but does definitely blush. “Believe what you want,” he says, ears burning bright red as he has to remember his breathing exercises before he can think about grabbing the glass jar of homemade marinara sauce from an Italian deli in Brooklyn, “But I personally think you’re reading into it a little bit.”

“Honey bear, this is all surface-layer,” Clint responds with a laugh, “You’re so evident that I could cry.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Steve says stubbornly.

“Only that, you know… you kind of wanna fuck Tony until he cums so hard he passes out,” Clint says with a cheeky grin that Steve doesn’t even need to _see_ , he can _hear_ it evident in his very tone, “But I could be wrong.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Why are the people in this tower so interested in my love life?” he grumbles, mostly to himself, but a bit of it is an honest question.

Clint laughs again, and blames their interest on his priest-like celibacy. Steve can’t help but laugh at that one.

“You live in a day and age where you can screw anyone with only limited public backlash, Steve, and you refuse to take advantage of it. Your hard Christian morals are your downfall,” Clint tells him before asking, “But did Peter talk to you about it last night?”

“You knew he was going to ask?” Steve requests curiously, arching a brow.

Clint shrugs. “He asked Nat an’ me a couple of days ago. Asked us for advice,” he says in way of answering indirectly, “We didn’t exactly convince him to the contrary.”

“I can tell,” Steve says dryly, sighing, “That wasn’t appreciated.”

“He’s _twelve_. It’s harmless. It’s not like he’s judging you for liking dick,” Clint deadpans, making Steve nearly drop the jar, having not expected such a blunt statement—the archer using this as a prime opportunity to grab for the apple he’s had his eye on, biting into it with a loud sound, “So no harm, not foul, am I right?”

Steve glares at him, having caught the jar but is a bit annoyed that he’d dropped it in the first place, and says, “Something else is bothering him, though— _that’s_ my issue.”

Clint pauses mid-bite. “Oh?” he asks, pulling the apple away with a frown, “He didn’t mention that.”

Steve pauses now, too—Clint’s good at reading people. In fact, as good as Natasha is at knowing how people operate, Clint’s surpasses her by far in actually _understanding_. Sure, he may sometimes _ignore_ signs of obvious emotional distress due to his finding the situation to be too amusing not to enjoy, but that doesn’t mean to say that he doesn’t see it whatsoever. He looks carefully at Clint, trying to gauge if Clint’s withholding information, if he knows what’s bothering Peter, perhaps, but Clint’s blue eyes are clear and open for him to read. Clint’s not hiding anything; he genuinely doesn’t know what’s bothering Peter. Wouldn’t have known, if Steve hadn’t said anything.

So instead of asking if Clint knows what the problem is, he asks if he’s got an idea of what the problem could be.

Clint’s look is serious as he takes a bite of his stolen apple before saying, through un-chewed, saliva-sodden chunks of fruit, that he’ll look into it, which is more than enough to soothe nerves that Steve hadn’t even realized are frayed.

Peter continues to act throughout the rest of the week as nothing happened, and though Steve desires nothing more than to question him into reveal, he doesn’t—he simply allows the entire conversation to fall into the back of his attentions for the duration of the time that Peter occupies his living space, allowing the boy to distract him with homework problems that he doesn’t actually need help with and a litany bad films and TV shows, and even manages to strike off another from his list as he’s forced to watch the entire original trilogy of _Star Wars_ films, which he has to admit aren’t too bad, though he feels like he’s kind of missing something at the beginning of _A New Hope_ , probably because it’s titled as episode four but Peter adamantly refuses to let him watch the numerically first three because apparently,

“You’ll want to claw your eyes out. Now shut up, it’s big reveal time,” he says as his eyes are glued almost reverently to the screen, as if he hasn’t seen this a million times. On the screen, Luke and Vader are fighting in the sky city that Steve can’t remember the name to, and Steve’s a bit more intrigued in knowing the reveal than asking Peter what he meant.

(Later, when Peter goes to bed that night, Steve stays up and watches _The Phantom Menace_ and realizes that Peter’s right—it’s atrociously bad.)

Tony checks in with them throughout the week, through call and text alike, video chatting Peter once on Thursday before passing out mid-call due to utter exhaustion, as they find out that Tony hasn’t slept in four days and, in a last-ditch effort, Happy’s laced sleeping pills into his dinner that night. Peter takes many screenshots of Tony’s sleeping-and-drooling face so that way he can scribble on it in the paint application on his tablet, giggling all the while and sending off the pictures as he finishes them to a group chat that includes Clint, Natasha, Bruce, Rhodey and, of course, Steve.

(They’re all far too amused. Especially Rhodey. He prints out one and apparently frames it to sit in his office on-base. Tony lets out a screech of utter _fury_ when he finds out about the atrocity and begs for its immediate removal. Rhodey, understandably, and very politely, refuses.)

Tony’s back on Sunday morning. He knows because Peter accidentally and literally runs over him on his way out the apartment, stepping hard on Steve’s abdomen. It doesn’t hurt, but it definitely wakes him up. It’s about four-thirty in the morning and only really a half-hour off from the time that he usually wakes, so he gets up, finally deflates the mattress for the first time the whole week and gets out of the tower for his run before the rest of Manhattan really wakes up, before he can be asked for any sort of photos or autographs or the like. He runs down to Central Park, loops around the entirety of it about five or six times before he breaks a sweat. By then, the homeless are beginning to wake up as life breathes back through the city’s inhabitants. He stops running somewhere after seven and decides to head back.

He even picks up doughnuts and coffee on his way.

Tony’s on the communal floor when he arrives with the food, Peter’s head in his lap as the boy snoozes peacefully, his father’s fingers woven through his hair as the man’s other free hand swipes lazily on the screen of the tablet in front of him. Five news stations are struggling to speak over each other on the wall-to-wall display before Tony, alighting his face with an array of color that Steve would like nothing more than to pause this moment on so he can attempt to recreate it through use of pastel. He doesn’t notice Steve’s presence, and for that, Steve’s glad; it allows him to fully take in this moment for all it’s worth.

Tony’s hair is wet, presumably from a shower he must’ve had to talk the boy into allowing him to take none too long ago, a towel strewn across his shoulders loosely. He wears a t-shirt advertising a band called Pink Floyd and a ratty pair of blue sweatpants, stained with engine grease and coffee spills, his feet bare and propped up on the glass coffee table. He cracks his toes occasionally, a gross habit that used to have Steve cringing, and he also does this with the fingers in his free hand, knowing better than to move his left hand from Peter’s overlong locks, which curl around Tony’s fingers, nearly hiding them in their thick depths. Tony’s calm, at ease, a small smile on his lips and tell-tale bags under his eyes which alert Steve to the fact that Tony probably hasn’t slept more than a couple of hours since the video call on Thursday, and would probably refuse to for a while yet.

Peter, for his part, has a hand fisted into the material of Tony’s sweats, his mouth opened only slightly, his legs—skinny and long, bent and twisted together naturally; curled up in sleep, his face at ultimate peace as he cuddles his father. Peter’s not one naturally predisposed to displays of affection, and so it’s always heart-warming to see when he expresses such feelings towards his adoptive father. Quietly, he asks for JARVIS to get a shot of them together saved to his tablet before making his way silently towards the kitchen area.

As soon as the bag touches down on the countertop, it seems his team begins to arise from the dead, the first of whom being Natasha, who’s dressed down in one of Clint’s purple t-shirts and a pair of boxers he assumes to be Bruce’s, shuffling across the floor like an inordinately graceful zombie, smiling sleepily at Steve as she quietly takes a paper cup of coffee for herself, helping herself to a glazed doughnut before she makes her way over to the couch, affectionately tousling Tony’s wet hair before sitting down next to him in the only free space left on the sofa. Tony mutters some kind of greeting at her, too focused on his work, whilst Natasha has JARVIS begin to do a scan for any sort of security discrepancies for the night before, overly cautious even in her half-awake state. Bruce follows none too long after, already dressed and in a lab coat, leading Steve to safely presume that he hadn’t been asleep, either, grabbing for himself a plain doughnut and the one cup of tea that Steve grabbed before heading back to his lab, greeting Tony on his way. Again, Tony only grunts.

Clint, for his own part, seems to appear out of nowhere, which isn’t too entirely out of the usual as he and Natasha seem tend to take turns in the morning doing this, grabbing a jelly, Boston Crème and a Marble frosted before running to the couch. He shouts the word “cannonball,” before he lands atop the sleeping Peter, who’s jarred forcefully awake and, with a screech, tumbles to the ground, snapping Tony to attention. The engineer hits Clint upside the head, while Peter grumbles irritably before noticing that Clint’s in possession of doughnuts. Before long, Tony’s armed with the largest cup of coffee in possibly the entirety of New York and a jelly doughnut, the white powder from his previous doughnut dusting the edges of his freshly trimmed goatee, standing at the counter with Steve, who follows Bruce’s example as he munches on a plain doughnut.

“Aww, you love me,” Tony jokes when he sees the cup.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Clint give Tony an incredulous look, but Steve just laughs. “It’d be more correct to say that I can’t stand to see you pout,” he says.

“I’ll have you know that I’m nothing but sheer perfection when I pout,” Tony says, “The embodiment of America’s truest sexual desires.”

“Tony, never say that again!” Peter calls from his place sandwiched between Natasha and Clint on the couch, “You are hereby banned, forever, from _ever_ thinking about that statement _ever_ again! For the sake of your own child!”

“Well, now that I’ve fulfilled my Peter traumatization quota, how’re you, Steve? Still in a relationship with your right hand?” he asks.

“Tony,” Natasha warns from the couch as Steve’s face turns a burning bright red.

Tony doesn’t apologize; he simply corrects that it’s in fact the left hand.

“But on a serious note, thanks for keeping an eye on my little shitbag,” Tony says, still chipper, “I appreciate you making sure that my favorite little guy is still alive and breathing, and, as an additive bonus, all in one piece, too.”

From the couch, Peter asks if anyone’s gonna talk about how Tony just called him a shitbag. No one does, mostly because they all know that Peter doesn’t actually mind it as much as his tone suggests. He only argues it for the sake of arguing it, not really because it bothers him. If he truly wants it to stop, then he could stop it any time, because he’s got Tony wrapped around his little finger and he _knows_ it.

“It’s not a problem, Tony,” Steve says with a shake of his hand, “I like having Peter over. It’s nice.” Tony arches a brow, seemingly incredulous. “Really,” Steve insists, “I like it when Peter sleeps over. I like having the company around.”

And he does; it’s the honest truth. Peter’s a good kid, and he’s good company to have, though he’s a bit too observant for his age at times. For the most part, they _do_ have fun when he stays over, even if it is cooking and watching movies, and to an extent he does like having someone to take care of. It’s a welcome feeling, to be relied on, rather than to be the one relying on the care of another like he’d been forced to so often in the past, though he’s aware that Peter doesn’t actually really need him. In fact, he sometimes finds himself a bit saddened when Tony comes home—it may mean he gets to see the man again, but it _also_ means that Peter goes home and leaves his space. Sure, it’s not like Peter’s gone far—he knows that—but it’s not like he can just check up on Peter in the middle of the night when he’s back with Tony.

Well, he _could_ , he considers—it’d just be weird.

Tony looks doubtful, but he doesn’t question him, looking towards the back of the kid’s head with a fondness for the boy that only a father can possess, and not for the first time, Steve recognizes how far Tony’s come in the past year due to his newfound role in life. He’d been terrified at first, Steve remembers, and as a team they’d been confronted with Tony’s multitude of issues and hang-ups. More than once in the days leading up to the adoption, Steve found himself having to talk Tony through some terrible breakdowns, the man revealing some terrible truths about his mental state to them all. It was a long road, a road that Tony still walked on, and every day Steve still found himself confronted with doubts in him drafted by Tony’s own insecurities; every day doing his best to show Tony as well as he can that his doubts needn’t exist.

Steve smiles at Tony. “I’d do it again and again.”

Tony smirks, not looking away from Peter. “Thanks, Steve,” he whispers sincerely, barely loud enough for a normal person to hear him, but thanks to Steve’s enhanced hearing, it comes loud and clear.

Steve’s smile grows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU ALL SOSOSOSOSOSOSOSOSOSOSOOOOO MUCH FOR 
> 
> -THE KUDOS  
> -THE VIEWS  
> -THE BOOKMARKS  
> -THE COMMENTS  
> -THE OVERALL SUPPORT 
> 
> THIS IS MY FIRST SERIES AND IT'S MY PRECIOUS BABY AND YOU ALL LIKE IT AND I NEED TO FINISH THE PETER FIC SOON BC I'M GONNA NEED SOMETHING TO UPLOAD WHEN THIS GUY IS DONE WHICH SHOULDN'T BE FOR ANOTHER FEW WEEKS BUT IT ALL DEPENDS ON HOW QUICKLY MY STORIES HIT THEIR VIEW MILESTONES FOR UPLOADS WHICH MEANS Y'ALL SHOULD SPREAD THE WORD
> 
> TELL YA FRIENDS  
> TELL YA MAMAS  
> TELL YA DOGS AND YA HAMSTAS  
> TELL THE LITTLE OLD LADY WHO LIVES IN YA BUILDING AND KEEPS CALLING YA SUSAN ALTHOUGH YA NAME IS NOWHERE NEAR SUSAN BUT IT'S OKAY BECAUSE SHE'S ADORBS AND GIVES YA DA BOMB CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES 
> 
> AGHHHH I'M SO EXCITED OKOK BYE I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH PLEASE TELL ME IF THIS CHAPTER SUCKS


	3. What Do You Think You're Doing, Steve Rogers?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... and on comes the storm. Destructive is it as it runs its path through their broken but intricately woven lives, threatening the very fabric of their bonds with one another. But this is only but the beginning.

The conversation is all but forgotten within the next few days, Tony and Steve both returning to their regular banter as the inhabitants of the tower resume with their daily lives. Tony goes back to spending eighty percent of his time in the lab, the other twenty percent almost entirely utilized in his role as Peter’s slightly abnormal role model. Sometimes, ten percent of the time is used for situations demanding the attentions of the Iron Man, but that’s not every day, maybe only a couple of times a week. Even less time is designated towards S.I duties, which is only atypical; he put Pepper in that spot for a reason, after all. A month passes, and Steve’s pretty much forgotten the conversation he had with Tony—even more so, the conversation with Peter.

Which is why he almost trips up the stairs when he hears Peter asking his father what he thinks about him.

Him, as in _him_ , Steve.

“Yeah, I guess I’m asking if you, um, find Mr. Rogers attractive,” Peter says carefully. Steve knows Peter’s not as nervous as his tone suggests, if his own conversation with the boy holds any bearing.

Tony sounds distracted as he answers, “Well, _yeah._ Most of the free world finds Rogers attractive, Peter. Six-foot-tall blond muscle heads tend to be found alluring.”

Peter almost sounds vaguely frustrated when he responds, “Okay, yeah, that’s all good, but that’s not what I _meant_.” Steve bites his lip—he knows _exactly_ what Peter’s meaning is, he just _really_ doesn’t know why, a month after he asked Steve how he feels, Peter’s now asking Tony the same question. “I mean, specifically, _you_. Do _you_ find Mr. Rogers attractive?”

He can almost hear the shrug. “Yeah.” He says it so plainly, so matter-of-fact, that for a moment, Steve’s heart sings. He, of course, shuts it right back down, before he can even really consider the feeling. “And? Why’re you asking, anyways?”

“I’m just curious,” Peter responds cryptically, “Really just curious. Would you date him, by any chance?”

The pause is almost audible, even louder than the clang of the tool as Tony puts it down as he sighs. Steve can picture him rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to pseudo-parent-trap me?”

Peter makes a sound awfully close to a squawk. “You did _not_ just draw a comparison to a _girl movie_ ,” he says indignantly.

“ _Are you_?” Tony asks.

Steve wishes to echo the question himself.

“ _No_ ,” Peter snaps back, defensive, “Just curious.”

“Good,” Tony says, probably going back to his work, “Because that’s not something you should be holding out for. Anything you want to happen between Steve and I probably doesn’t exist in the realm of possibility.” That statement kind of hurts, Steve has to admit, but not as much as what Tony says next: “Not that he’s even interested in someone like _me_ , anyways.”

Peter’s confused when he asks Tony what he means.

Steve’s listening far too intently for an answer for his own good.

“Well, _fuck_ , Peter,” he says, obviously exasperated now from the hounding (and Steve can imagine well enough how he’s rubbing the scar tissue surrounding his arc reactor), and he answers, “Like he’d want some sort of mess like me. I’m not Peggy Carter, after all.”

Steve leaves after hearing that one.

He avoids Tony for the next few days, not sure what to do about Tony’s statement now that it’s almost all but confirmed that Tony reciprocates at least some of his own feelings. He wants to be mad at Peter for pushing it, but really, he’s mad at himself—in some way, he knows he’s made Tony feel to be somehow inadequate in some way when it came to him, comparing himself to the ghost of Margaret Carter despite the fact that Steve’s feelings for her aren’t even in the same league as the ones he has for Tony. He hates that Tony’s still thinking of himself as, somehow, _not good enough_ —when, in truth, it’s really Steve who’s not worthy of the ground Tony walks on. He wants to contest Tony’s words, but at the same time, he knows that the moment he does, he’s basically assuring that he’ll lose Tony.

And, because in his heart of hearts he’s in fact a selfish creature, Steve stays away in order to protect himself. He all but runs out the room when Tony walks in, keeps any conversations he’s forced to have with him brief and on topic—he doesn’t even allow himself the luxury of _looking_ in Tony’s direction for very long, because it _hurts_ , it hurts far more than he reckons he should be letting it, and every time he even dares to think of Tony, even for an instance, it just hurts so much _more_.

He knows, logically, that he should tell Tony the truth.

That the lack of worthiness that Tony somehow felt is, in fact, Steve’s own.

In annexation to avoiding Tony, Steve sees far less of Peter than he’s truly comfortable with, the boy having become a virtual staple in Steve’s day-to-day routine, but as Peter and Tony come as a sort of pre-packaged deal, Steve sees no other choice than to avoid Peter, too, and the pain he feels compounds. Steve really doesn’t notice how important Peter is to his life until Peter’s spot becomes an empty one. If he sees Peter approaching, he’ll typically take an alternative route. If he sees Peter simply resting in the communal area, then he’ll backtrack and go out for a run.

He’s more than aware he’s going to some extraneous lengths to avoid a preteen whose body weight he outclasses tenfold, but that’s just how Steve is. He’s great with tackling a problem for the greater good, but personal problems just throw him through a ringer and suddenly he’s the skinny asthmatic twig he used to be, running away from his emotions and trying to seem stronger than he is.

And, probably too predictably, Peter’s having none of it. Probably, as Steve recollects this time later, it’s one of those things that makes him even more like Bucky; he had no patience for Steve’s bullshit avoidance policy either, which is the only reason he can attach to why, when after just about two weeks of avoiding Tony and Peter, the kid barges in his apartment with chin jut high in the air, the blanket in one hand and already in pajamas, which is only weird because it’s only two PM. He doesn’t even acknowledge Steve initially, instead, he walks right past the man as if he’s not even worthy of Peter’s gaze, flopping down on the couch into a boneless heap and tossing the remote at Steve as way of greeting, requesting Steve pick something tonight, because it’s _always_ Peter picking and Peter wants something new.

“Does your dad know you’re here?” Steve asks instead, hoping he doesn’t sound half as anxious as he feels.

Peter shrugs. “I guess. But Tony’s in Malibu, so it’s not exactly like he’s gonna come running in any minute like you’re worried he’s gonna.” Peter doesn’t make eye contact with Steve, but the veteran can plainly see the sadness that’s intermingled with the anger in the depths of Peter’s eyes. “So, relax, Mr. Rogers, you can still avoid him.”

Steve feels as if wounded. “I—”

“Movie, Mr. Rogers,” Peter reminds him, “And can we order a pizza tonight? I’m feeling deep-dish.”

And, in this aspect, Peter’s so much like Bucky that Steve could cry. But he doesn’t—instead, he request JARVIS to pull up any movie that Peter hasn’t seen yet.

(PG-13, however, is his maximum. There’s certain things a kid of Peter’s age just doesn’t need to see.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So. I haven't forgotten about this story (not by a long shot). I have this thing, a view-quota for my stories to hit to constitute an update, and since all of my stories were teetering around that x99 mark, I was waiting for one of them to push past the mark to hit another significant digit - which this one did, reaching just over a 1000 views THIS MORNING, and I've been so excited to post this all day though I'm sure y'all gonna hate it. 
> 
> Thank you all for your Kudos, Bookmarks and Comments- it really keeps the creative flowing, which I need because I'm STUCK on the Peter fic right now and it's DEFINITELY gonna get spliced up into a couple of stories because none of this series pass like 30-35 pages but Peter's is turning into quite the epic, it's just got me a little stuck. But it also INTRODUCES BUCKY FUCKING BARNES and I'm really excited to be writing Bucky because basically it's comicverse Bucky with all the cussing and the violence and the gruffness mixed in with movieverse Bucky's adorableness and angst and Sebastian Stan face (because no one can tell me that Sebastian wasn't born to be Bucky Barnes) 
> 
> ANYWAYS
> 
> Thank you very much for reading this chapter! Please feel free to leave a comment to tell me how you felt, whether you love it or you hate it! All criticism is good criticism even if it makes me cry a little :)


	4. The Destruction of the Life of Steve Rogers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life as he knows it ends with a bang...

It’s, admittedly, awkward for the first few hours. Anytime Steve opens his mouth, Peter shuts him right back down, because he’s just not yet ready to hear the bullshit explanation that Steve could possibly have for avoiding him, and Steve knows it even though Peter doesn’t say it that way. Peter might look relaxed, but Steve knew better—the kid is _furious_ , he's just doing his best to hide it by keeping to habit as best as he can—and Steve also knows he has no choice other than to allow Peter is abject anger. It’s deserved, especially considering that it’s Steve who’s supposed to be the adult in the equation.

So Steve doesn’t try to explain himself after a while. He allows Peter to stew in silent anger whilst watching some movie called _Jumanji_ , which is the third movie of the day. He allows Peter to shoot him small glares all throughout dinner, during which they take a break from movie watching to tend to their headaches and their hunger, pizza boxes crafting a makeshift wall between the pair of them. He even willingly allows the ‘accidental’ kick Peter delivers to his ankle while Steve tends to the dishes afterwards.

It’s around ten when Peter finally whispers, “If I hadn’t come back up here, would you have ignored me and Dad forever?” in the small voice that only a child can manage.

Steve winces. It’s not too often that Peter refers to Tony as _Dad_ , the last time being when Tony had left for three weeks just a few months after Peter’s official adoption.

“No,” Steve answers automatically. It’s not even a lie. He’s already aware that he can’t avoid a man whose building he lives in, much less a man who’s also his teammate. He’s just not… not ready. Not ready to talk to Tony. He’s afraid that if he does, then he’ll admit something he’s just not prepared to let loose, and it’ll be the beginning of the end for their relationship as it stands presently.

“Dad thinks so,” Peter whispers, eyes glued to the image of Bambi on the screen, “He thinks he did something.”

Steve swallows dryly. “Tony didn’t do anything to me, Peter. Not intentionally.”

Peter finally looks at him. “I know,” he says, his voice shaky despite the decisive nature of the statement, “You’re just a selfish prick.”

“Peter,” Steve admonishes lightly, “Language.”

Peter gives a soft, humorless laugh. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry. But it’s true.”

Steve doesn’t exactly disagree.

The next day is significantly lessened in its tension, marked by the image of a sleepy Peter still in his pajamas from the day before shuffling into Steve’s kitchen in search for food, which Steve provides by handing him a plate of eggs and fried bologna, which the boy makes a point of turning his nose up at but eats nonetheless with a notably excited vigor. They don’t spend the entire day together—at some point, Peter disappears downstairs to work on a project—but by six, they’re baking ziti and settling in for another movie, Peter having procured another set of pajamas to wear, wrapped up nice and tight in his blanket, smiling wide despite having been wanting to decapitate Steve only a few hours previous.

Steve hadn’t been aware how much he’s missed this. Every so often, he flicks little glances over at Peter, and he can’t help the flush of warmth that floods through his body. It’s similar to the brotherly bond he feels with his lost friend, but, at the same time, it’s entirely unfamiliar, though not unbidden. Though Steve doesn’t quite understand the feeling, he’s not quite willing to let it go, either. So he just doesn’t try to think about it, he instead just basks in the feeling, watching Peter as the boy laughs at Donkey’s ridiculous speech.

“Steve, I wanna get you and Tony together.”

It’s said so out of the blue that it takes Steve embarrassingly long to quantify what exactly it is that Peter’s even said, but when he does, he’s almost instantly gone scarlet in the cheeks, pinching the bridge of his nose as he contemplates the life decisions that’s led him to the point that a middle-schooler finds reason to fuss about with his romantic life.

“I thought you were done with this,” Steve manages to groan, suddenly unable to make eye contact with a person not even a fourth of his (chronological) age, whom, based on the little giggle he lets escape his lips, is more than smug that he’s embarrassed Steve, and Steve has to resist the sudden desire to whine that rises hot up his trachea, because although this a conversation that’s entirely unsanctioned, he is still the adult of the room, and if his Ma’d ever taught him a damned thing, it’s that adults don’t whine—no matter how much said adult didn’t want to have a conversation with a preteen gung-ho about setting Steve up with his adoptive father.

“No, not done,” Peter says with decision heavy in his voice, “Just put on the backburner for a bit.”

‘A bit’ is 'a bit' of an understatement, considering it’s been weeks since they had the conversation about Peter’s obvious desire to see Steve and Tony together.

Steve doesn’t note on that, however.

How can he, after all, when he’s so busy resisting the urge to scream in frustration? Honestly, between Natasha’s pestering and her near-constant setting up of blind dates for Steve and now Peter’s badgering, Steve’s nearly ready to take up a life of priesthood just to spite the pair of them.

“So why now? Why’re you bringing it up today?” Steve asks, forcing down the idea of celibacy, picking up the remote and pausing _Shrek_ —which is actually a movie he’s seen already, but in an odd twist of opportunity, Peter hasn’t (or just didn’t remember if he had)—focusing his attentions instead upon Peter and not on the drawing he was currently doing of the preteen, capturing the image of Peter’s enraptured face through pencil.

Peter shrugs. “Tony talks about you a lot.”

It’s said so simply that one might almost believe it to be the complete and honest truth.

Steve knows it to be nothing more than a facet.

“Tony talks about everybody a lot, Peter,” Steve informs the child, “If that’s the logic you’re going to use, then Tony should just date anyone. Maybe Clint.”

Peter looks, for a moment, hilariously disgusted.

“My dad with Uncle Clint?” Peter asks aloud before groaning, “Not a thought I want to think. That’s like setting Fred up with George.”

(Steve’s brow wrinkles enough for Peter to automatically request JARVIS to add Harry Potter to their ever-increasing list.)

“No, Steve. Tony wants you,” Peter says with a shake of his head, “I know it.”

Steve knows that the last thing he should do is entertain Peter on this topic, knows that allowing Peter to continue this like he’s got a shot of getting close to convincing Steve to go out with his father, but there’s a scarily strong part of Steve to closely interwoven with the thin remainders of his sense of hope that doesn’t allow him to outright rebuke Peter and his pestering on the topic. Steve wants nothing more than to make this stop—and if it’s for the sake of Tony or himself, he’s truly not sure—but he just can’t end it either, out of an innate selfishness that he’s never quite managed to outgrow.

“Why?” Steve asks instead of demanding for the end he wants, quickly elaborating that he wants a better answer than the one given previous, because it’s threadbare at best.

Peter’s lips pucker slightly as he actually thinks of a good example to give, staring into the oversized green blanket he always brings with him every time he comes to stay at Steve’s. It’s more than a comfort, for Peter at least, what with the well-worn corners that threaten to tear into holes, as well as the multitude of stains—some grease, some tomato sauce, and some entirely too unidentifiable for Steve’s comfort—and Peter holds this ratty old thing as if it’s some sort of anchor, hands fisted tight into the fabric.

When Peter finally opens his mouth to speak, Steve’s on the edge of his seat with anticipation.

The anticipation is quickly replaced with dread when JARVIS suddenly shuts down the film, turning instead to the news so that the two, taken completely off-guard, are now looking at the image of one Tony Stark giving his Malibu address to a terrorist on national television.

Steve’s on the phone with Pepper within minutes, Peter hot on his tail as he goes to the communal floor, which already has Clint and Natasha already prepping for flight, both of them having been obviously otherwise relaxed, if Clint’s bedhead his any indication to the fact, neither of them looking pleased at all with the situation (Clint especially), while Bruce busies himself with trying to get in contact with Tony himself, which Peter latches onto almost instantly. The TV plays the various news channels, which all focus on the fact that a billionaire superhero just challenged a terrorist, and Steve’s _pissed_ , because this isn’t something Peter needs to see or hear, it’s not _fair_ to Peter to have to see this. He really wants to wring Tony by the neck for putting Peter through this, but he’s also well aware that this isn’t something Tony’s done entirely without reason. It’s an action that Steve can tell is entirely provoked, and its cause enough for worry that he’s requesting Pepper get him _out_ of Malibu this instant.

“I’m _trying_ ,” Pepper says, her voice that of utter frustration and fear, “But he’s such a stubborn asshole!”

It's nothing short of a miracle that they do manage to reach Pepper, who Steve can only assume even answered in the first place because the ID rang up with Peter’s contact information on display. Pepper is splitting her attentions between them and Tony himself, who apparently is being the epitome of difficulty at the current moment, as from what they can make out from the indecipherable barks Tony’s giving her, he believes that he needs to do this (whatever _this_ is).

“Is he there?” Steve asks.

“Yes—Tony, no, do _not_ unpack that bag, you are _not_ staying at an address given out to the entirety of the world, I’m _not_ allowing that!” she screams, and if it were a less serious moment, Steve would laugh at how she’s talking to Tony as if he’s nothing more than an uncooperative, misbehaving child. 

“Natasha and Barton are preparing to fly out,” Steve informs her, “For now, just get him out of there.”

“I would if he would _Tony would you please cooperate, you are not a god!_ ”

Steve grits his teeth. Of _course_ Tony would be difficult about this. Didn’t he see that this verged on the intentional? That he was putting himself—and others—in serious potential danger with this behavior?

Was he still not aware that people worried about him?

“Pepper, hand me to Tony,” Steve orders without gifting himself a bit of thought.

Pepper pauses, and then hisses, “Steve, he’s not—”

“Pepper, _please_ ,” he damn near whispers, his voice breaking up at the end, and he’s suddenly all too aware that he’s got eyes on him, but he forces himself to ignore it; it won’t do himself or Tony a lick of good if he lets it get to his head, because he’s got far more too worry about now.

Pepper makes a noise and then says something akin to, “Dammit, Steve,” though Steve can’t make it out too well due to the sounds of her jostling with the phone, and the yelling of two people over the phone’s meager speakers, and Steve can’t help the anticipation that knots his stomach more and more with every passing moment until he hears the sarcastic overtones of Tony’s voice humming out the hardly-sincere greeting of a hello, and Steve’s frankly surprised about the utter anger he feels instead of the relief he’d been expecting when he hears Tony’s voice.

“Every time I think I know you’re a good person, Stark,” Steve grinds out, unable to withhold the utter _fury_ that he feels, because, _fuck_ , who did Tony think he was, doing this to people who loved him—to people who fucking _needed_ him? “Every single _fucking_ time, Tony, you prove just how selfish you are.”

In the back of his mind, Steve’s aware that Peter’s sucked in a breath.

Tony’s quiet for a pause before he gasps out, “W-Wh—Who the _fuck do you think you are, Rogers_?” in a voice that’s not as angry as Tony would like it to seem—it’s all parts, however, _distressed_ , and Steve can hear it, but in this moment, he’s not of the mind to let it stop him in the least, because Steve’s too furious, frankly, because he loves Tony, he loves Tony so fucking much it hurts, and Tony’s gone and gotten himself targeted by a fucking terrorist and put himself in this situation and _oh, God_ , Peter, Tony’s got Peter, they’ve got Peter to worry about, Peter’s utterly terrified and worried and _fucking hell_ , he’s so scared now, why did you have to do this, Tony, why did you have to put yourself in harm’s way like the selfless fucking bastard you are?

It’s only when Tony stutters out a shocked “What?” that Steve realizes that, all the while, he’s been saying this out loud. Steve’s eyes go wide, and he turns to the other people of the room, trying to see if it was just his imagination, that it’s not the truth, but he can see it in the look in Peter’s eyes that he’s said it all. None of them look surprised, which Steve figures they wouldn’t be, but they are all worried—who they’re worried about, Steve’s not too sure, and he can’t focus on it, either. So he takes in a breath and turns back around, trying to regain the composure he doesn’t feel.

“I love you,” he says in a shaky voice, “And I need you to come home. So listen to Pepper and get out of there before the situation gets worse. I need you here. Peter needs you here. Please, just listen to Pepper. Get packed. _Please,_ Tony, _please_.”

Tony’s silent for a beat before whispers, “They hurt Happy, Steve.”

Steve sucks in a breath. Tony’s voice sounds so broken and he’d do anything to wipe that from his lips. “I’m sorry, Tony.”

“They’ll hurt others,” Tony says, “Maybe next time, it’ll be Natasha. Or Rhodey. Or Pepper. Or Clint. Bruce. _You_.” He sucks in a breath at that before continuing, even more painfully, “Or Peter.” He swallows audibly. “Someone has to stop them, Steve.”

“It doesn’t have to be you alone,” Steve argues, “You have a team for a reason.” He takes in a breath that surprises him with its quivering before saying, “Tony, _please_.”

“I’m not going to allow anyone else to be hurt, Steve,” Tony says, “I care about all of you so much, and I’m not going to abandon my fight because you asked me to. It’s because you asked me to that I can’t.” He takes in a shaky breath before saying, “The Mandarin needs to be stood up to, and I’m the one with the power and the ability both. It’s my duty, and my choice.”

Steve can feel the anger rising up again. “So it’s your _choice_ to chance leaving Peter alone?” he asks.

“I’m not. He has you,” Tony says, “And I trust you with him. I’d trust you with anything.”

There’s something unspoken, and Steve is almost afraid of what it is, because he’s got the feeling that he knows exactly what Tony’s avoiding saying, but he doesn’t get the chance to contemplate any of it, because Natasha shouts his name suddenly, and he turns just in time to see the news stations airing the image of a helicopter racing towards Tony’s Malibu house, the Malibu house he’s _inside_ , and Steve has almost no time to process it before he screams Tony’s name into the receiver, ordering him to grab Pepper and get down, watching in horror for the barest moment when the rocket is fired before he drops the phone and dives for Peter, wrapping his arms around the boy and turning him bodily away from the televisions, putting himself between the screens, because the last thing Peter needs to see is this. Peter screams, hitting his arms, but it’s more out of agony than of anger, because despite the fact that he can’t see it, he knows what’s about to happen, what’s happening, because they hear the sound of the resulting explosion before one of the other heroes manage to mute the sound of the televisions, and with his enhanced hearing, Steve can hear the phone cut abruptly short, and Steve has to force himself not to collapse right then and there, because the pain he feels is _blinding_. All he can do is shift so that Peter’s cradled into his chest, arms tight around Peter’s shaking body, and bury his face in the bed of messy brown locks and take in all the pain Peter has to give him, all the pain that Peter doesn’t deserve to feel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! The original story finally reached 5,000 views! I'm so happy! 
> 
> Thank you to all that have reviewed (though a lot of it is Steve-bashing after the last story). A small story's going to follow this one before Peter's solo, which I STILL haven't finished because of the same complication but I'm getting there. Hopefully I'll write a few more shorts before Peter's story is uploaded. I might upload the shorts as their own series within this one, and will probably do the same with Peter's story, but we'll see what happens when it comes down to it. I just can't believe it's only been seven months since I started this series ^.^ 
> 
> Please leave a comment if able, let me know how you like this chapter! All of these stories are kind of written stream-of-consciousness so feel free to let me know if the chapter endings are abrupt or choppy; cutting them off at the right place is a bit hard.


	5. It Ends Not With a Hush but a Bang, Steve Rogers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of it all. The resolution of the tale, told in 10 pages of text - the happy ending we've all been waiting for.

Peter’s not all too willing to let go of him after that, forcing Steve to keep him against himself when he moves upright, because while he just wants to focus on the pain he shares currently with Peter, he can’t, how can he—he’s needed now, Captain America is needed now, because the Avengers need a game plan now that the extraction idea is shot to shit. He sends Natasha off to follow the grapevine that’ll lead to the identity and location of this Mandarin, whilst he sends Clint and Bruce off to Malibu after receiving a call from Pepper, who makes contact what Steve doesn’t realize is nearly two hours later. She personally sends in a Stark Industries PR personnel in order to talk to Steve about the next public move following these attacks, about what the Avengers are going to say—about what Steve is going to say, because, after all, he’s what the public have attributed to being the leaders of the Avengers.

Peter’s quiet all throughout, and that in and of itself is heartbreaking, because he can almost hear what Peter’s thinking—he’s lost another parent. He’s been tossed aside, abandoned, left alone—he opened himself up to someone who, in the end, couldn’t stay. It’s a feeling that hurts Steve, because Tony never wanted to leave him—he just wanted to fight for the world he felt Peter should have. And it’s valiant. But he didn’t seem to realize that Peter desires nothing more than a world in which he has a family, and unknowingly, he’s stopped Peter from having just that.

Peter doesn’t go to sleep that night, and Steve’s utterly aware that it’s out of fear, and so while he’s aware that he can’t allow him to do this, he does anyways. He spends his night with Peter clutching him like some sort of octopus, arms tight around his neck and legs wrapped around Steve’s waist, and intermittently, he cries silently, trying not to let Steve hear it although he knows Steve does anyways. He just doesn’t make comment on it—he knows Peter doesn’t want him to.

Around two AM, quietly, Peter asks him not to leave him.

Steve’s not all too good with jokes like Tony is, but he thinks he manages it well when he asks, “What, not even to use the bathroom?”

Peter doesn’t laugh like he wants, but he does give the breath of one.

“Dad was right, you are a sarcastic jerk, Mr. Rogers.”

Steve is privy to updates from his team members, but he makes it clear early on; he can’t join on this mission. It’s not that he doesn’t want to—it’s because he can’t bear the idea of leaving Peter alone at this time. Peter’s so fragile, so on the edge that Steve’s honestly afraid of leaving Peter alone, and all he wants to do at that very moment is shelter Peter from the entire rest of the world. So he does his best to—he allows Peter to hide in his suite, keeping him close and distracted at every possible moment, putting on various movies and TV shows and playing video games and teaching him chess; anything he can think of, and Peter’s just receptive enough for this to even work. Steve’s just happy he doesn’t cry every waking moment of the day, that he can even smile for just a hint of time, and it’s pretty much all he can ask for.

Peter doesn’t spend a lot of time talking for the first two days, and Steve doesn’t exactly blame him, as he’s not entirely sure how to begin a conversation about any of what’s happened, least of all to a child, so he doesn’t push Peter. For the first two days, the two move about in a virtually wordless dance with each other, eating together, watching television together, playing together, but neither daring to converse with the other, and he’s entirely aware that, at his age, he should be pushing Peter to talk through this, but he doesn’t know how to do it when he doesn’t know where Peter is yet, emotionally, through his process of grief, and he doesn’t know how to push him to talk about it all.

“When you said we, what did you mean?”

Steve looks up from the status update Clint’s sent him, giving Peter a confused look. It’s the most the boy has said in three days, and Steve’s utterly confused as to where it’s coming from, so Peter takes a breath and specifies,

“You said ‘we have Peter’. To my dad.” He looks hesitant as he whispers, “What did you mean by we, Mr. Rogers?”

As Steve hadn’t been in the right frame of mind when he’d said it, he doesn’t quite recall it in whole detail, but he knows exactly what Peter’s talking about, and he’s surprised because he realizes what the answer is, and it nearly rocks him to his core, because it’s along the lines of “I think of you as my son, too” and it hurts to even think that it’s what he wants to say because it’s just not his place to say anything of the sort; Peter’s not his kid, no matter how he feels that he is.

And so he’s going to deflect, he honestly is going to, but Peter whispers in the most broken voice he’d heard anyone use yet, “I wanna know the truth, Steve,” and suddenly Steve just _can’t_ , he can’t do it, so as afraid as he is, he tells Peter what he knows now to be the truth. Peter lets out a little gasp of breath, and Steve looks away, ashamed and afraid, because now he’s opened himself up for more pain, because now he’s lost Tony, now that he’s admitted what he means to him—now he’s going to lose Peter, too, isn’t he, because that’s what happens, he loses the people he cares about the most, and he can’t afford to lose Peter, not Peter too, it’s not right, he can’t—

Peter’s arms wrap around him tight, so tight that he nearly gets the breath knocked clean out of him, but he returns the embrace, confused until Peter whispers, “I think of you as a dad, too,” and all that Steve can possibly do is begin to cry—because what the hell else can he actually do?

Peter sleeps that night. Not well, but he does, hogging the covers on Steve’s bed because he refuses to be alone, using Steve’s right arm as a makeshift pillow, and for the third night in a row, Steve doesn’t sleep, but it’s not because of misery, for the first time in three nights—it’s because Peter is drooling all over his arm and his face is too adorable not to snap a quick photograph using the tablet, though it’s awkward when he only has his left hand to use, and he can’t help but smile although he’s an emotional wreck. He almost sends it to Tony, but he stops himself just in time.

He gets word the next day that Tony’s made contact with Pepper just before the press conference is about to begin, and he tells Peter almost immediately, because this is something he needs to know, even if it’s from the day of the explosion, because it still means that there’s a chance, a _very_ good chance, that Tony’s alive, and Peter nearly cries right then and there, though the makeup artist swats at his knee when the tears even chance it. Peter gives her a glare that it’s own threat, which she happily ignores because she’s more focused on giving on giving Peter the best contour he can have, which Steve doesn’t think is necessary but he can’t stop her from doing.

Steve refused to let S.I. use Peter as a speaker. It’s still not public knowledge that Peter and Tony are father and son, and Steve has no plans on changing that. The world doesn’t need to know that Peter exists, and he doesn’t want it to. Peter is being placed beside one of the stockholders who have more than their fair share of grandsons; the press will just assume he’s one of them, and the only reason Steve’s allowed this much is because Peter’s begged to be there. He doesn’t want Steve too far away, and Steve feels similarly about Peter, which is why Steve was even amendable enough to allow Peter to talk him into this. So Steve smiles reassuringly at Peter, who gives a smile back and allows the aggressive woman to finish up, whilst Steve fingers the edges of the shield. He’s not wearing the full uniform—he’s gone for a polo, dress pants and dress shoes—but he’s got the shield in hand, too. The PR people want the public to see him as personable, but they also want them to be reminded who he is. It’ll carry more weight, they tell him.

(Steve’s not too sure he believes them, but he does it anyways.)

It doesn’t feel like too long before Steve’s on the stage, standing behind the podium; staring straight forwards through the flashing bulbs showering upon him from the crowd, doing his best not to seem like he’s not been a mess these past few days, because the public can’t know how close he is to shattering apart like glass—he’s here to let them know that the Avengers are standing strong in reaction, not crumbling like ruins. Steve’s hands grip the podium, and if he pretends enough, he can almost pretend he’s sitting on the couch of his living room, watching television with Peter, who’s looking at him from his place in the front of the crowd with a quiet encouragement in the depths of his eyes.

There’s questions being shouted at him—What are the Avengers doing to follow up the attack?—Is this a declaration of war upon the Avengers?—What will befall the Iron Man suits, and of the title of Iron Man?—Will Stark Industries continue to support the Avengers?—Who is the Mandarin?—and Steve can barely process them all. He doesn’t know which one to start answering, doesn’t know where he’s supposed to begin speaking, so he waits, patiently, with an unwavering look, for them all to quiet down enough so he can form some sort of semblance of clear thought.

“I don’t who know the Mandarin is,” Steve says when he’s got a clue of what to begin saying, his jaw clenched tight around his words as he grounds them out, “I don’t know what his objectives are. I don’t know where he’s located, where he’s from, or what he’ll do next. I’m as in the dark as the authorities are, and so I can’t speak on anything that has to pertain to the Mandarin’s potential plans. However…” He swallows now, “What I can say is that we will not go to war with the Mandarin.” The crowd begins to rile, but he interrupts, “I got word a few hours ago that Tony Stark is, as far as we know, alive. At least, he survived the initial attack. My team and I are working to gain more of an idea of our next step, but we’re all sure, I can say, that a war will not happen. After all—” He now looks straight at a news camera, which advertises itself to be for Fox News, and continues, allowing just a bit of the anger he feels leak out when he finishes, “—a war is something both sides have a shot at winning.”

There’s a bit of backlash to his statement, but Steve doesn’t pay it all too much mind, mostly because it’s the truth, what he’s said—any fight that they’re going to have with the Mandarin isn’t going to be one that the terrorist has any sort of chance of winning. Tony may be alive, but it didn’t make the crimes the man’s committed lessen, not when Steve’s got the days of Peter’s distress on his shoulders; not when he’s going to remember the sounds of Peter’s screams of anguish when the Malibu house goes up in an explosion of flames. He can only hope that they never find out who this person is—for his own sake more than their own, because he’s not entirely sure he’ll remember who he’s supposed to be when he’s choking the life out of him.

They’re all a bit stressed, not just him and Peter, which is why he can’t really help the smile that arises when Clint gives his whole-hearted support for Steve’s statement for the press when he makes contact later that day, because Clint’s been terse these past few days and nothing anyone’s been able to say has managed to calm him (because Tony’s pretty much the closest thing he’s gotten to regaining a brother, he’s told him once after a flurry of drinks), and it means so much that Clint’s able to be positive even for a moment, and Steve can’t help but wish he’s had more time to think about it, between Peter and the press and finding Tony, but he hasn’t, and it’s downright terrible of him, he knows, but right now all he can do is just be glad that Clint’s not feeling like he wants to put an arrow through the Mandarin’s skull.

Pepper goes missing from their watch none too longer after he makes contact with Clint, which almost drives Steve out into the fray, but the moment he thinks about it, Peter pops into his mind almost instantly, reminding him that he has another responsibility other than to his team now. Peter depends him, needs him _here_ , and it’s what’s been keeping him mostly operational these past few days, despite the fact that he’s wanted to freak out since he first saw the rocket soaring through the sky, all Steve’s wanted to do was curl in on himself and shut the entire world out for as long as he can ever manage. Steve has to force himself to stay, because that’s what Peter needs: a parent to stay with him in the worst of moments. Peter’s not keen to let him out of his sight for more than a few moments, and he spends most of his time curled up against Steve, despite the fact that he’s far beyond the age that he needs physical comfort, but Steve’s always had a liking for cuddling so he allows it if only because it’ll keep Peter from completely falling apart at the seams.

“When Dad comes back, are you gonna follow through?” Peter asks one night before elaborating, “Are you two going to be together?”

Steve can’t help but chuckle at Peter’s hopefulness. “It’s a bit more complex than that, Peter,” he tells the kid whose head rests in the crook of his neck, his eyes on the tablet screen as he reads through the latest news update just after he gets news that Tony’s been intercepted by Clint, and is currently being checked out with a local medical center in Florida, along with Rhodes and Pepper, whilst Killian’s operation is being dissolved.

“I don’t see how. You love Dad,” Peter says, “And Dad loves you, too.”

Steve laughs a bit. “Tony doesn’t love me, Peter,” he responds.

Peter pulls out of his embrace enough to level Steve with an incredulous look. “ _Steve_ ,” he says, and Steve has to withhold the wince he feels because, while he’s finally officially left the realm of ‘Mr. Rogers,’ he’s only made it to being singularly known as ‘Steve,’ which is a start, admittedly, but not where he wants to be, “Tony loves you so _much_. How are you unable to see how ridiculously in love with you Tony is?”

“Tony sees me as a friend,” he says, “Nothing more.”

Peter tries to convince him otherwise, but Steve knows better than to let his hope get the better of him. Just because he’s dodged this bullet—just because he hasn’t lost Tony this time—it doesn’t mean to say he’s completely out of the dark yet. He doesn’t want to run the risk of losing Tony, especially now he’s found himself this close to risk flourishing into actuality, and so his mind’s already made up; his resolve iron-clad. He’s not going to pursue Tony. He can’t do it. If he does, he’ll lose him forever, and it’ll leave Peter without his own father, and he just _can’t_ do it; he can’t live with the pain it’ll bring to him, can’t fathom shouldering the weight of the pain that’ll befall others, because it’ll be _his_ fault, he knows it without question, and it’s just not right that others suffer because he wants to love Tony. He’s made a mistake in admitting it, but he wants to fix it. For his own sakes and for the others around him.

At some point, Steve falls asleep on the couch with Peter curled up against him, as he notices firstly when he’s stirred into consciousness, the television still playing before them, casting colors and lights upon Peter’s sleeping face, but he hardly has a moment to think about it before he feels the pressure of a hand on his cheek, but not just any hand—a callous-covered hand that smells too much like engine oil and hot metal and is entirely too soft to be anything other than that of one Tony Stark’s, who’s looking at him as if he wants to devour him in a way that, despite Steve’s supposed resolve, has a heat stirring deep within him.

Tony’s gaze doesn’t stay on him for long. It moves over to Peter’s sleeping face, and the heat smolders behind the adoration that surfaces for the boy, Tony’s hand moving to Peter’s forehead as he brushes his hair out of his face, and Steve can see the layers of tension just disappear from the lines of Tony’s face. He’s definitely looking like all he needs right now is to sleep the next few days away, and Steve can tell that he’s going to do so whether he wants to or not, but he forces himself to stay awake regardless, caressing Peter’s face gently, as if he’s afraid he’ll disappear if he’s not careful. Steve has half a mind to wake Peter up, but it’s really the first time throughout this whole ordeal that Peter’s sleeping peacefully, and not at all due to utter exhaustion, so he’s not all too keen to do so, which Tony doesn’t seem all to upset with, based on the way he rubs the bags under Peter’s eyes with the pad of his thumb.

“I’m so sorry, Peta-P,” he whispers so he doesn’t wake up the boy, his voice strained due to the agony he feels, “I’m so very sorry.”

Steve doesn’t comment. It’s not his place to. Instead, he carefully draws Peter into his arms, taking him to his own bedroom and tucking him in for the night. Peter fusses for a moment, but the moment he grabs onto one of Steve’s pillows and tucks it under his nose, he’s for the most part contented. Steve carefully slides his glasses off of his face and places them on his nightstand, right on the edge where the boy usually leaves them, so he can find them early in the morning, and he gently pats Peter’s hand once before he leaves the room, closing the door most of the way behind him.

Tony’s waiting for him right outside of the door, the heat still not fully gone, but overshadowed with the agony he’s feeling. “Steve, I—”

“Not right here,” Steve interrupts, “I don’t want to wake Peter if I start screaming.”

Tony winces, but he agrees that it’s fair.

He follows Steve back out to the main area, sitting down on the couch like Steve motions him to, and immediately begins to fidget with his fingers, having never been able to remain completely still. He watches Steve carefully, gauging his emotions as best as he can considering Steve isn’t expressing all too much, which the man is more than aware of and purposefully trying to do, because he’s afraid that if Tony knows that the least of all of what he’s feeling is anger, he’ll make him lose his resolve.

“Thank you for taking care of Peter,” Tony whispers after a few moments of silence.

“Somebody had to after you decided to be a selfish jerk,” Steve responds with a snap. He’s trying to use the anger he barely feels to keep Tony at arm’s length. It’s the only thing he can do to keep his feelings for Tony from forcing him into making another mistake.

Tony winces. “I was trying to keep him safe.”

“He almost _lost_ you, Tony. Did you think about how that would be?” Steve returns.

“Of course I did,” Tony gasps out, hurt, “But it was the only solution.”

“No—it was one solution. Another would’ve been to call your teammates for backup, not go after a _terrorist ring_ by yourself.”

“I will admit the situation could’ve been better handled, yes,” he acquiesces as his anger visibly builds, “But at least I didn’t take down an entire espionage organization and put millions out of jobs and cost the government billions in damages.” He crosses his arms. “I didn’t see you jumping to call the team then, Steve.”

Steve doesn’t let Tony know that it stings a bit. “Romanov was with me.”

“Well, Rhodey was with me, so—”

“—Rhodey was with you for the end of it all. There were days in there that we were _all_ sure that you were _dead_ , Tony,” Steve interrupts him with a sigh, rubbing his face. “Peter was a wreck. This is probably the longest moment I’ve spent without Peter for the better part of a week. What you put him through can’t be ignored, even if it was to keep him safe. It was wrong of you to jump in front of the gun when you don’t even have to take the bullet.”

Tony bristles. “Like you can look me in the eye and say you’d never do the same thing,” he hisses.

Steve nods. “You’re right. I can’t say that,” he responds, which knocks Tony off-kilter a bit, “I would do it without a thought a thousand times over, but the difference is that I don’t have people who need me like they need you, Tony, so I can commit the selfish act. You, however, don’t have that luxury.”

Tony’s on his feet before Steve can really process it. “What the _fuck_ are you even talking about, Steve?” he asks, his eyes alight with fury now as he elaborates, “ _What the fuck am I, then, if I don’t need you_?”

Steve’s shaking his head before Tony even finishes the statement, but Tony’s already arguing with him—because how dare Steve say that he doesn’t need Tony? How dare he think that he can just admit something as deep as love, actual love, and not expect a soul to reciprocate, especially the objects of his love? How dare Steve ever stipulate that Tony didn’t need him like he needs air to breathe?  How dare Steve actually have the gall to think that Tony can’t love him, too?

“I love you, Steve,” he finishes in a rush of breath, eyes wide, pupils blown out so the blue is but a thin ring of color around the dilated pupil, his fingers twitching and trembling crazily to make up with the lack of touch they’re getting, and Steve’s heart has just about stopped in his chest, because, _no_ , Tony can’t feel this way, he can’t love him back, he can’t _do this to him_ , it’s wrong, it’s selfish, and it makes his hope blossom hard, and fear rise heavy in his throat, and his mind scream at him to _run away_ and his heart beg him to let it all _go_ , and Tony’s got no idea of what he’s doing to Steve, or at least doesn’t care, because he comes closer, repeating it like a mantra,

“I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you,”

And it’s sending Steve into a frenzy, glued to his seat as stiff as can be, body tense and screaming in agony as he tries to move, but Steve’s not strong enough, he never has been, and he’s just stuck there like an idiot, staring up at Tony gormlessly as he mentally begs Tony to stop, because he’s ripping him apart, his resolve at the edge of his being, because he’s got to let this go, got to ignore it, for the betterment of them all, and if he does it right, Tony will fade to the background, and if he’s lucky, he’ll take Peter with him, and he won’t have them anymore, but they’ll be safe and alive and it’s all Steve can allow himself to want. Tony’s ruining this, though, moving closer and closer like he’s not aware of what kind of affect he’s having, repeating his declaration of love still,

“IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyou,”

And it’s completely not fair, how beautiful he finds Tony to be in this moment despite himself, from the way the lights of the city stream through the window to hit the left side of his face the way it is, the five-plus day’s growth on his goatee giving him a humbling appearance, the way his mouth contorts as he continues with his statement,

“ _IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyou_ ,”

The way the t-shirt that obviously isn’t his seems to stretch over his muscles, how it doesn’t hide the scars on his arms from both work and anxiety, how he moves ever closer despite how terrified he is, and how a man who’s so afraid of the worst outcome in any situation needs no convincing to chase this, iron-clad in his decision as he says,

“ _IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou,_ Steve, I _love_ you.”

Steve’s resolve, by then, is but a distant memory, chased away by the smell of engine grease and hot metal and expensive cologne that is Tony’s usual, and Steve swallows before getting to his feet before him, hand reaching out to rest on Tony’s hip. Heat slices through the fabric of Tony’s MIT t-shirt, and it’s so enticing that Steve has to place another hand upon his hips in order to fully experience it. He watches as Tony’s tongue darts out to lick at his dried lips, speaking towards some sort of dehydration, and in the back of his mind, Steve makes it a point to, at some point, Tony drinks some water before he passes out. He doesn’t think about it too much now, though, not when Tony’s looking at him with such utter desire evident in his eyes.

He doesn’t know for how long Tony’s wanted him, loved him; and, he supposes, in the end it doesn’t matter too much, because the man who’s always so stuck in the past is finally fully in the present, fully able to focus on the flush of anticipation and desire that rushes through him as he moves in closer towards the shorter man, until the arc reaction can’t light up his face anymore and he can see, with his refined vision, almost every speck of dirt on Tony’s face that he decides to worry about later when he dips his head.

Tony meets him halfway, and Steve knows that he may not have the most experiences in kissing, but he knows that this kiss blows any others he’s ever had out of the goddamn water and, in fact, if it’s the last kiss he’d ever have before he died, then he’d have died a happy man, but then Tony tilts his head just a _bit_ and all Steve can do is groan and fist his fingers in Tony’s dry, sticky hair and relish in the low moan that Tony emits in reaction. The sound goes straight to Steve’s arousal, and it takes all of him not to just rut against Tony like some wild animal.

They break apart, gasping, lips reddening, and somehow, some _way_ , Tony manages to crack a smirk.

“Need to take it slow, old-timer?” he snarks.

“Shut the hell _up_ , Tony,” he hisses before he dives back in.

He then closes his eyes—

—And he lets _go_.

(In the morning, Peter finds them tangled up together on the couch, and after screeching in glory, he runs off to find Clint, leaving behind his two disorientated, confused and affectionate parents. He’s apparently made a bet with the rest of the team about them getting together—Clint and Bruce apparently thinking it’ll never happen [which offends Tony] and Natasha apparently knowing it would [which kind of scares Steve]. Clint’s resounding screech of utter anger and _the fuck Steve; stick to your damn guns_ is something both men laugh heartily about.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you soooooo much to EVERYONE for reading! I hope you've all enjoyed the story as much as I enjoyed writing it! You know, originally, this was SUPPOSED to be the immediate sequel to the first tale; the other story kinda snuck up on me as a plot bunny and happened to be done first :3 but out of the three, despite the terrible, cliched ending I've delivered, this has been probably my absolute FAVORITE to write (especially since the Peter tale is turning out to be a complete and utter BITCH). I've got an epilogue-y type thing already typed out and waiting for editing (ps- it's got badly written porn, EEEEEEEEE) and I'll post it once I've gotten Peter's story done a bit more. Planning on writing a Clint story to explain his characterization fully in this tale (to explain why he's not in the mood for Steve's bullshit) but we'll see what happens! ANYWAYS!
> 
> Thank you to all who've commented and left kudos and bookmarked and just otherwise came back to read this story! It means a lot to little ol' me, who's just some brat who prefers to write fanfics as opposed to having a social life :) I hope you all love this chapter as much as I do, and again, thank you for this incredible adventure you've allowed me to explore - the world of writing stories in CONTINUITY!


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